The Marshal's Mission

She shoved one corner of the building. It moved a little. She pushed harder, but it wouldn’t budge any farther. Lenora yanked open the wobbly door and went inside the fenced enclosure.

The reason she couldn’t right the building became obvious in a moment. One of the foundational posts was cracked. In the soft dirt under the coop, the partial outline of a boot print showed.

Lenora sucked in a breath.

The memory of the lurking form rushed at her. No doubt a cowboy boot made this print. And it had to have been before the torrent. Did Cole damage the coop?

Her breathing slowed as she wrestled with herself. What about that morning? The stories about his father, mother and brother? He looked like a gunfighter with the way he toted a gun on his hip, not a rancher.

“Was he lying?” She tightened the chin strap of her bonnet.

Their conversation after breakfast came back to her. Cole had referred to Jeb by his last name. She distinctly remembered calling the outlaw by his first. How had Cole known?

“You didn’t tell me about him.” Jeb’s words came back to her. Not because he didn’t know Cole, but because he hadn’t expected to see him? If so, they had put on a good act for her.

What did Cole want?

Pressing her hand to her forehead, she determined to keep him at a distance. Be polite, but uninvolved. Make sure he understood she tolerated his presence, but not welcomed it. As soon as he figured out she wasn’t an easy mark, he’d move on.

With that resolved, her gaze rested on the chicken coop. This had to be fixed, but how?

“Toby? Can you hear me?” she again called. Perhaps they could right it. Then she could secure the fencing and the coop would again be usable.

“Coming, Ma. Where are you?”

“By the coop.”

Her son soon joined her. Alone.

“We need to push this upright.”

Toby squinted at her in the bright sunlight. “Want me to get Cole to help?”

“No, we don’t need him.” Her sharp words cut the air.

Though he made a face, he said nothing more.

Together, they shoved against the building. It budged a little.

“Let’s rock it. Maybe that’ll do the trick.”

The two of them pushed rhythmically. Slowly they gained more ground. The fractured board suddenly gave way with a loud craack, and the building shuddered into an upright position.

Lenora stepped back. Even with one post broken, the coop appeared stable. “Let’s get some stakes to anchor the fencing.”

Toby looked at her as if she were crazy. However, he said, “Yes’m,” before heading to the shed. He soon returned with two hammers and an armful of stakes.

Thankfully Amos stored an abundance of tools and woodworking supplies.

She and Toby began the tedious task of pounding stakes into the ground. Soon perspiration trickled down her temples. Through her sunbonnet, the sun seared the back of her neck.

“Need some help?” Cole’s voice interrupted the thumping of the hammers on wood.

“No, thank you.” Lenora didn’t bother to look up as she spoke.

“But, Ma...” Toby piped up.

She shot her son a warning glance. “We are perfectly able to take care of this ourselves.” Rising, she faced Cole, aware of her heat-bruised cheeks and damp clothing. She spoke in a cool tone. “I appreciate your chopping wood. You’ve done more than enough.”

His eyes narrowed.

A trickle of sweat ran down her throat. When his glance strayed that way, she swiped it with the back of her hand. She forced her breathing to slow. And not be the first to break the silence.

“Suit yourself.” Cole turned on his heel.

“Ma,” Toby’s soft voice protested. “He ain’t—”

“Isn’t.” She whacked the stake with extra force. Before continuing, she glanced around to make certain Cole wasn’t nearby. “Tobias Joseph, we are not discussing Mr. Cole again. And I don’t want to hear you asking him for help. Do you understand?”

He took a long time to respond. Too long. “Yes’m.”

She caught her breath when he added, “But I’m still going to pray.”

For a moment, she gaped at Toby’s open defiance—the first time in his almost eleven years. He really was growing up fast.

Her eyes stung a little as she bent to her task. And it wasn’t just because of perspiration.

* * *

“I brought your supper, Cole.”

He looked up from his occupation to see Toby loitering by the barn door. Behind him hovered his faithful sidekick, Blister.

Was that how it was going to be? Though Cole had no idea what had come over Lenora earlier, he would oblige by staying out of her way. Her obvious dismissal—not only when he’d offered to help with the coop and now the glaring lack of a supper invitation—left him to conclude he was no longer wanted.

Had she rescinded that offer to stay as long as he liked?

“You want it?” Toby gripped the towel-covered tin pan.

For a moment, he nearly declined. But that would be stupid. “Much obliged.” He set aside the six-shooter he’d been cleaning. After Toby handed him the dish, he leaned against his saddle. “Want to join me?”

Now why had he said that? No doubt the boy’s supper awaited him at the house.

However, Toby’s face lit up. “Sure.” He sat nearby. A crooked grin tugged at one corner of his mouth. “If we run out, I know where to get more.”

Cole found himself grinning, as well. “Good. I’m hungrier than a hibernating bear.” Chopping wood had fired his appetite. Or perhaps his temper because Lenora had been so cold?

Blister sat on his haunches nearby. Tongue lolling, he was already salivating for handouts.